


slow honey

by annwalker



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, Fingering, Fisting, Gratuitous Smut, Multiple Orgasms, PWP, Praise Kink, You're Welcome, ann is lowkey a pillow princess but wbk, it's really smutty but also Delicate™, just a little, literally no plot fair warning, slight humiliation kink also, some brief thigh riding, thanks for betaing jt417!!!!, yes i said fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annwalker/pseuds/annwalker
Summary: Anne has traveled Europe, seen more than most can imagine, but the stars in Ann's eyes are brighter than those that stretch across the sky in Paris, the ridges of her ribcage more delicate than those of a seashell on the shores of Venice.





	slow honey

**Author's Note:**

> fisting deserves more appreciation and i'm here to bring that to light.
> 
> special thanks to @jt417 for betaing! go check her out!

It may be wrong, but Anne loves to pull confessions from her wife, watch her squirm and blush until she admits what she wants in hurried words and desperate hands. She downplays it, pretends she doesn't know exactly what Ann needs, drawing the words from her like slow honey as she tosses her golden head against the pillows. This evening is no exception; Ann is flushed, pink blooming over her chest and burning her ears; a rose against the crisp white linens. Anne has traveled Europe, seen more than most can imagine, but the stars in Ann's eyes are brighter than those that stretch across the sky in Paris, the ridges of her ribcage more delicate than those of a seashell on the shores of Venice.

Her attention is brought back to her wife, who writhes restlessly on the sheets; Anne rests on her knees between Ann’s splayed legs, runs caring palms smoothly over shaking thighs and soft hips. Ann desperately shifts her hips up in a futile attempt to press against her. "Ann, darling," she soothes, voice unwavering, "what do you need?"

Ann's eyes are pleading and wide, her cheeks flush, as she struggles with the words. "I want—" she chokes, embarrassed, "—I want..."

Anne can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, the inner-workings of her mind ticking like a clock. "Sorry?" Her voice is teasing, faux innocence pulling at her features as she tries in vain to suppress a smile.

Ann is then scrambling, clutching Anne's wrist and pulling it to her cheek, damp with frustrated tears. She kisses it weakly, teeth pinching at the thin skin of her knuckles. "I want—" a huff. "I want this inside."

The words sear hot through Anne, twisting around her insides like molten rock. "Oh? My fingers?” Her hand ghosts over Ann’s cheek and jaw, brushing a bead of sweat away. “How many?"

Crystal eyes are closed now, battling shame in effort to tell her wife her desires. Anne almost takes pity, decides she'll give her wife what she needs, but before her palm slips from her grip, Ann is gasping into the crisp air. "All of them— all of it."

 _Good Lord._ For once, Anne is stunned speechless, arms twitching as she stares at her wife who blushes further, sinking into the sheets. With no response, Ann continues. "I've been... considering it, and after all, we're built to have— to give birth— are we not? And so surely it would... _fit_..." She's nearly on the brink of tears with humiliation, tearing her fists from the sheets to cover her face in embarrassment. "Forgive me,” she groans from behind her hands.

Anne is unmoving, silenced for a fleeting moment, before she's moving to handle the creamy skin of Ann's thighs, spreading them so Ann glances at her through her fingers. "Poor thing," she hums, running her fingertips through the copious wetness. Ann jerks against the sheets. "You've gotten yourself all worked up just thinking of it."

Ann's breaths are shaky and high in her throat, and all she can do is nod, gulping in the thick air surrounding them. Her words shudder out of her, timid. “Can you… Is it…”

Anne interrupts. “I’m sure it’s possible, yes. It seems you’ve considered it enough to come to that conclusion yourself.” Still, she drags her fingers through Ann’s folds, teasing her opening that twitches around nothing. “What inspired such an idea?”

Finally, Ann’s hands fall from her face to weakly grip the pillow beneath her. “It simply came to me.”

"Did it? And you thought of it enough to ask for it? Very bold of you, Miss Walker." She rests her free hand against Ann's trembling abdomen to still her jerky movements, graciously allowing her middle digit to push itself inside. Ann's such a noisy little thing, and Anne is grateful for it, but she can't bear to imagine the brazen sounds she'll produce with— _Lord—_ an entire hand inside of her.

That lone digit is working wonders by itself, it seems, as even with Anne's palm anchoring her hips down, Ann twitches against her touch in desperation. Anne is working painstakingly slow, movements irregular as she keeps her ministrations frustratingly gentle. It seems as though her wife has worked up a touch of bravery as she whines, teeth biting into her lower lip, and lifts herself up onto her elbows to watch Anne work. She flushes a deep red at the sight and falls back again. “Please— _more_ ,” she begs, words forcing themselves past her innate shyness.

“More what, darling? You’re going to have to clarify.” It’s wicked.

This time, Ann whines slack-jawed, the sound achy and bare in the open room. “Fingers!” she squeals. “Please Anne, put more inside.”

Never one to deny her wife, Anne does as asked and lines a second finger up with the first, though keeps her excruciating pace. "As you wish," she hums. The issue dwelling in the back of Anne's mind brings itself to the forefront as Ann squeezes tightly around even her two lone digits. She decides to voice her concerns. "Are you sure you can take that much, Ann? The whole thing?"

A strangled noise escapes Ann's throat and she nods wildly, blonde tendrils bouncing with the movement. “Quite sure,” she pants, probably upon realizing Anne requires a vocal answer.

Anne shifts down the bed to watch her eagerly accept her fingers, hunching to briefly kiss her shaking thigh. "Two is so tight, though— surely even three won't fit."

"Then make them fit," she breathes desperately.

Anne isn't used to such forwardness from her wife; she usually seems perfectly content to lay back and take whatever Anne is offering, but here she is— pure, virginal Ann— near tears, begging for her hand.

It fuels her cause, gives her a rush of newfound energy. She barely gives Ann time to accommodate for the stretch of two before she’s fucking her with three, face reddening at how Ann’s cunt loudly sucks and gropes at her fingers. She sounds so wet, so she tells her as such, grinning as Ann sobs and jerks her hips up at the comment. Her clitoris is red and swollen, though Anne continues to neglect it, worried if she shows it any attention this will all be over far too soon. Ann, however, doesn’t seem to share the same concern as she untangles her fingers from the sheets to rub it herself.

“Now, Ann,” Anne chastises and swats her hand away, reveling in the way Ann whines needily at the loss of friction. Soon enough, though, all is forgiven as Anne lowers herself to take it into her mouth, tongue flitting over it. Ann’s biting her own hand to stifle her sounds, but it doesn’t do much good, especially as Anne curls her fingers upwards on instinct. She falters, stops.

“What?” Ann’s panting, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and desperation, hips still twitching as she fruitlessly attempts to keep the pace.

"Darling, you’re far too loud,” Anne hums in explanation, brushing her thumb over the swell of Ann’s clitoris so she moans again, shuddering. As much as she loves to hear her wife, they do not live alone, and the idea of an intruder is far more frightening than exciting. She shakes her head and runs her thumb over the bud again, forcing another cry from her wife. “That simply won’t do.”

“I’m sorry,” Ann gasps, fretting as she pulls at the roots of her curls. “I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll be good.”

"No.” Ann’s eyebrows knit together anxiously and she whimpers, nervous. Anne’s hardened demeanor suddenly breaks into a wicked smile. “Get on your knees,” she instructs, and pulls her fingers away, wiping Ann’s wetness on her own thigh.

 _She has never moved so quickly_ , Anne muses, as Ann scrambles in haste to prop herself up on her knees and elbows, pressing her face into the downy pillow beneath her. Anne uses the opportunity to reach across into her bedside drawer and fish out the small bottle of rose oil they like to keep on-hand. She grins as the cork pops off, releasing a subtly sweet aroma and triggering a flood of arousing memories from earlier uses.

She then takes all but a moment to appreciate the view, the expanse of Ann’s bottom in her face, and cannot help herself from spreading her cheeks and kissing between them sweetly.

Ann’s little toes curl at the contact and she gasps, sound barely audible as the pillow swallows it. _Much better_.

Hand now slick with oil, Anne teases her fingers over Ann’s entrance, bringing them away every time her wife rocks herself down onto them. “Patience,” she hushes. She knows Ann is going mad, can hear it in her breathless cries, and in merciful gesture, slides her three fingers in to the knuckle.

The fabric of the pillowcase gathers where Ann bites it, _hard,_ and she wails into the plush bedding as Anne regains her steady pace, bedframe creaking with each thrust. Ann’s own fingers bump Anne’s as she reaches to rub herself again; this time, Anne doesn’t care, it would be cruel to stop her. She kisses over Ann’s bottom and thighs, and carefully tucks her pinky in with the rest. Ann stretches tightly around the addition, wetness sliding down the back of her wife’s hand. Anne cranes her neck to lick broadly at the sopping arousal that surrounds her fingers.

Up close, it's mesmerizing, watching her wife accept all four fingers like it's nothing— she pants hotly against Ann’s soaking flesh, feeling her own arousal burn fiercely at the sight. "You're making a mess," she mutters as Anne's wetness trickles down her wrist. "You're so tight, you're doing so well—"

All at once, Ann is bearing down against her hand, shuddering. One hand joins her jaw, clenching around the pillow, and the other feverishly works over her clit as she cries out brokenly. She squeezes around Anne's fingers tightly, near painfully— she rocks back with one final thrust, lets her climax crash through her. Anne hears a sigh through the pillow, feels Anne's hole loosen its hold. Ann turns her head so she can suck in heaving breaths, body trembling.

"Such a good girl,” Anne praises, kissing the small of her back and gingerly pulling her fingers out. “ _Such_ a good girl, my Ann. I’m so proud of you. You took so much.”

However, instead of melting into the bedding, Ann looks at her with wide eyes and whimpers, thrusting backwards to keep Anne in place. “No,” she pleads, “don’t stop.”

At a loss for words, Anne hesitates, but keeps her hand inside, gently rocking her four fingers as to not lose the pace. “Ann… surely that sated you?”

Ann shakes her head, mewling as Anne continues. It takes a moment for her to find the words, but finally she whines hoarsely against the linen. “I want your hand.”

The words scrape through Anne, especially as Ann’s hole sucks against her four fingers, and she groans lowly at the filthy admission. “That’s rather greedy, don’t you think?” 

At this, Ann sobs, desperate. “Please, Anne, please, I need it,” she cries. 

Anne swallows roughly. “Alright,” she finally muses, fingers moving more firmly now. 

She’s picking up speed, bracing herself for what’s to come, but before she can take it any further Ann is calling out again. “Wait!” she yelps through clenched teeth, eyes watery. 

She jerks, stops abruptly. “Did I hurt you?” Her voice is laced with concern, but Ann shakes her head with persistence, propping herself up on shaky arms. Anne feels her start to roll herself over, and gingerly removes her fingers. 

Ann whines at the newfound emptiness, but moves to rest herself up against the plush headboard. She’s flushed, lips bitten, chest heaving. She squirms against the sheets. “Like this,” she explains breathlessly, “I want to watch.” 

Anne releases a held breath, feeling a sharp note of arousal burn through her. “Very well, then,” she huffs, and grips Ann’s hips, dragging her wife down a bit to where she needs to be. Ann mewls at the display of strength. Anne pushes her wife’s thighs apart, appreciating the view of her open, swollen cunt, and bends to quickly kiss her clitoris. She twitches violently. “You’ll be good?” Anne asks, circling her trembling hole with the same four fingers again. 

Ann’s hands grip onto the fat of her thighs to hold them open on her own, sitting up against the pillows so she can watch, and she nods, keeping as quiet as she can. “Please,” she chokes, voice fucked-out, “Don’t make me wait, please, Anne.” 

Ann’s little midriff has wrinkled into rolls where she sits up, and Anne leans forward to kiss its softness as she strokes over her opening. “Alright,” she finally hums, “be quiet.” She pulls away and rests on her calves between Ann’s thighs, gaze focused as she brings her thumb into her palm, creating a wedge shape with her hand. It’s intimidating, much bigger than anything Ann has taken before, and she slowly works it into Ann’s hole, knuckles catching at her opening. 

Ann watches with heavy eyes, face contorted in pained pleasure. “This bit is difficult,” she pants, hips jerking as Anne twists her wrist. 

Anne chuckles lowly, breathless. She uses her other thumb to circle Ann’s clit, hoping to further the process. “What? You’ve done this before?”

Ann shakes her head in negation— of course— and swallows thickly. “No,” she cries, gasping for air in order to speak properly. “I’ve tried, but I can’t do it to myself.” 

The mental image of Ann taking her own fingers strikes her and she feels momentarily weak, moaning as she falters. “Good God, Ann,” she sighs. 

Anne simply nods, face flush and eyebrows knitted, and worries her bottom lip between her teeth. The moment is so close, she’s working her knuckles in, and she almost doubts it will work until in the blink of an eye, Ann is pulling her hand inside with a broken cry. 

The moment swells together, and they both still, tense, Ann’s head falling back as she flutters around the intrusion. She can barely breathe, abdomen quivering and knuckles white where they grip into her own thighs. Ann is so, so tight around Anne’s wrist, but soft and warm everywhere else, so hot and wet around her that Anne loses where she ends and her wife begins. The sight of her hand disappearing within her is enough to gut her, and she pants, eyes flitting between Ann’s full, pink entrance and her twisted expression. Finally, she speaks, voice breaking. “Are you alright?” 

Ann pants, shrill and breathless in the quiet room. “Wait,” she gasps, “wait—” Hesitantly, Ann shifts her hips, experiments with the weight of Anne’s hand inside her, and moans so loudly that Anne flinches. “It’s so big,” she sobs, chest heaving. “It’s so big, it’s so much.”

“Too much?” Anne asks, hesitant and unmoving. Ann shakes her head _no_ , whimpers with her eyes squeezed shut. 

Little by little, Ann relaxes, uncurling her toes and letting her face soften. “Alright,” she says thickly, catching her breath. “Move.” Anne drags her fingers inward to her palm, so her hand is somewhat fisted, and Ann cries out into the arm that she's thrown across her face. “Move,” she pants again, seemingly at a loss for any other word. 

Anne is gentle, circling the bud of Ann’s clitoris with her spare hand as she rocks her fist ever so slightly, building the courage to shift it within her. The wet sound it produces is almost vulgar, and Ann groans, hips grinding against the pressure. “Ann,” Anne gasps, in awe of the sight before her, “look.” 

Ann pulls herself up again to look downwards with hazy eyes, pink lips parted as she watches Anne’s wrist disappear inside of her, sees her wetness coating it and dripping down her forearm. “Oh,” she breathes daintily, eyelashes glistening with overwhelmed tears. The time for lewd speak is adjourned, and instead, Anne leans to wetly kiss her wife’s open mouth, over her pretty teeth and lips. 

As Anne’s kisses cease, Ann’s head rolls back again, and she pulls her own hair, stomach heaving as she gulps in shaky breaths. Her nipples look painfully hard, so Anne does the right thing and takes one into her mouth, letting her tongue lave over the tight bud and then the other, kissing between her heavy breasts in the process. Her hand never slows, instead keeping a gentle, steady pace, until Ann’s cries have strung together into a continuous, achy whine. 

" _Please_ ,” Ann begs, hips stuttering. “I’m so— it’s so—” At a loss, she cries into the flesh of her arm again.

Anne’s free hand is busy keeping her wife’s thighs spread; Ann’s fingers drop from her aching roots to rub frantically at her own clit, so sensitive and desperate for friction that she jolts at the first touch. She barely strokes it before she’s suddenly silent, shooting upwards with unseeing eyes, squeezing around Anne’s fist so tightly it hurts them both.

She comes down with choked gasps, hands coming to grip Anne’s shoulders and biceps as Anne aches herself, rocking back onto nothing in desperation. “Ann,” Anne pants, slipping her soaked hand out as Ann loosens her grip. “That was— you’re so good, you did so well.” Ann is coming back from her high but still has the wherewithal to meet dark eyes through the dimly lit room, thin fingers trailing over the toned expanse of Anne’s stomach. Frenzied, Anne shuffles over the sheets to lower herself onto Ann’s thigh, pressing herself against it through the linen of her drawers. It hardly takes anything, already on edge from the arousal of fucking Ann with her hand, and she shudders against her, her own release crashing through her like the tide.

Sweaty and breathless, she falls beside her wife, who kisses her so sweetly she feels she might crumble into dust above her.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
